


Vanilla Almond Cookies

by Diary



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Awkwardness, Baked Goods, Bechdel Test Fail, Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Canon Character of Color, Chivalry, Cousins, Erica Reyes Bakes, Female-Male Friendship, Gentleman Vernon Boyd, Late Night Conversations, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, Vernon Boyd-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: Repost under different title. AU. The cookies, or cookie, never should have been drugged. Complete.





	Vanilla Almond Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

In health class, five minutes was spent on teen drinking. It boiled down to: Don’t ever do it, and if you do, driving is the worst sin imaginable.

Vernon Boyd doesn’t disagree with either due to having seen enough kids do incredibly stupid things while drunk and having been in the car with a drunk driver too many times to count. The latter finally stopped when he was ten and ended up with a broken arm and leg after his dad had had a collision with a semi-truck.

However, he suddenly finds himself objecting to the fact what to do if an epileptic classmate is stumbling around under the influence of something and how to tell if a person is drunk vs. has been drugged wasn’t also covered.

Erica Reyes stumbles into some boy who catches her, and the way he looks her up and down sends warning bells through Boyd’s head.

Going over to them, he glares.

After the boy hurries away, Erica looks over and blinks at him with glassy, uncomprehending eyes.

Sighing, he slowly reaches over and gently lifts up her left arm so he can look at her medical bracelet.

It isn’t as helpful as he hoped. It tells him not to put anything in her mouth, she’s photosensitive (he knows what this means, but he’s not sure most of their classmates and some of their teachers would), and she has B- blood. It doesn’t give him an address, phone number, or tell him what to do if she’s drunk and/or drugged. 

He knows he can’t just walk away, but he doesn’t see many options.

He’s not going to call 911, the police station, or the hospital. He knows how bad it would be if anyone found out he had been responsible for the party breaking up and the kids too slow to disappear being in trouble. He could take her to the hospital, but if she’s been drugged, they might call the cops on him. He could take her to the police station; he’s pretty sure Sheriff Stilinski would believe him. However, the sheriff’s son, Stiles, might be there, and Boyd doesn’t want him having uncomfortable information on another person.

His dad’s been arrested numerous times, and he’s all too familiar with riding in the front seat of a squad car and sitting in the station’s tiny kitchen area while his mom or one of their neighbours is called. Stiles has never said anything at school, but Boyd isn’t sure if it’s pity or Stiles bidding his time.

“Erica, can you understand me?”

There’s no change in her expression or her stance.

“If you can, could you tell me if there’s someone I can call for you?”

She continues to stare blankly at him.

He puts the back of his hand on her forehead, and feeling no signs of fever, he makes a decision. “I don’t where you live or how to contact your parents. I’m going to take you to my house. Is that okay?”

There’s no response, and hoping this isn’t a terrible idea, he carefully wraps his hand around her arm and leads her out of the party.

…

Boyd doesn’t have his license, but since he knows how to drive due to a combination of observation, reading, and his job at the local ice rink requiring him to operate different types of machinery, he took his cousin Shawn’s car to the party. From what he’s read, he could potentially qualify for a hardship license. However, since he doesn’t have a car, he’s never bothered with trying to get one.

Despite the lack of a license and insurance, he’s yet to be pulled over. He hopes tonight isn’t the night his luck runs out.

Once he gets Erica into the backseat, he says, “I’m going to put your seatbelt on, okay?”

He does and gets home without incident.

Inside, he briefly considers putting her on the living room couch, but Shawn might be back before morning, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with him.

After getting a glass of water, he takes her to his room and shuts the door. Getting her to sit down on the bed, he kneels down in front of her. “I’m going to take off your shoes, okay?” Spotting her necklace, he remembers hearing or reading something about how they can be a choking hazard and adds, “And your necklace. I don’t want to risk you choking.”

He gets the shoes and necklace off and puts the latter in one of the former.

“Here.” He tilts her head back slightly and holds her nose to get her to open her mouth. Pouring a small amount of water in her mouth, he lets go of her nose and presses her mouth closed. When he moves her head back, he sees her swallowing and briefly considers getting her some aspirin, food, or even coffee, but the realisation he doesn’t know what sort of reaction she might have to any of them stops him. 

Digging a sleeping bag and one of his extra pillows out, he arranges them on the floor and maneuverers her on the bed so she’s lying on her side. “I’ll be here if you need me,” he tells her.  

Turning off the lights, he settles into his sleeping bag and sets his alarm clock to go off in an hour.

…

Every hour, he gets up, checks her forehead for signs of fever, and gets her to drink some water.

After two hours, she’s asleep, and he doesn’t bother waking her.

…

The sound of whimpering wakes him up.

Looking at his alarm clock, he sees it’s 4:50.

“Erica?” Sitting up, he lets his eyes adjust to the dark.

“m sorry,” comes a quiet whisper.

“I’m going to turn the light on,” he says.

He desperately hopes she isn’t about to die in his room.

Once his eyes adjust to the light, he sees her sitting up on his bed with a pained, embarrassed look. Before he can ask if she’s hurt, he sees the problem.

Her jeans are stained, and so are his sheets.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “Sorry,” he adds. “I shouldn’t have had you drink so much water. Are you okay?”

For a long moment, she looks at him suspiciously, and this is why he doesn’t like having anything more than absolutely necessary to do with people.

Then, she nods. “T-thank you for helping me.”

“Do you want me to call someone for you, or do you want to stay until the morning and have me drop you off somewhere?”

Motioning to her jeans, she asks, “Could I get out of these, first?”

“Good idea. We don’t have a washing machine, but-” He studies her.

Most girls at school wear heels, and she doesn’t. He’s not sure how tall or short she actually is in comparison to them, but he knows she’s shorter than his mom. He’s not sure how much she weighs, especially with her baggy sweater, but he knows she’s on the slim side. He just hopes she weighs more than the 103 pounds his mother does. 

All of his clothes would absolutely dwarf her.  

“We have some large towels. You can take those off in the bathroom and wrap one of them around you.”

“I can’t,” she says.

“Okay.” Taking a calming breath, he suggests, “Take those off in the bathroom and wrap one of the towels around you as best you can. I have some safety pins. We can use those.”

Nodding, she slowly gets off the bed.

…

He strips the sheets off the bed and, since he doesn’t have any clean ones to replace them, turns the mattress over.

When she comes out, she says, “Um. Sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

She’s awkwardly holding two large towels around her waist.

Grabbing the safety pins, he tells her, “Hold the right side.” As he pins the left side together, he continues, “I’m Boyd.”

“Just Boyd?”

“It’s my last name. I don’t like my first.”

He’s never met his great-grandfather, he doesn’t remember much about his grandfather, and his father is a drunk who’s hardly ever around. Any pride he had in the name Vernon died a long time ago. If he ever has a son, he’ll break the tradition.

“I don’t know what happened,” Erica says. She carefully sits down on the bed, and he sits on the sleeping bag. “I ate a cookie, and, then, you were looking at my bracelet, and then, you were getting me to drink some water, and then, I woke up to a wet bed. Which, again, I’m sorry for.”

He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. You didn’t drink anything?”

She shakes her head.

From all the hours he’s spent at the police station, he knows more than he ever wanted to about drinks being drugged, but a cookie being laced with something doesn’t make much sense. In general, food simply being poisoned is rare enough.

Thinking back, he remembers seeing plenty of people eating cookies, but she’s the only drugged person he noticed.

Then again, he realises, he saw many people he assumed to be drunk. What made her stand out and lead him to realise there might be something besides alcohol involved was the fact he knew about her epilepsy. 

“Did you eat any of them?”

He shakes his head. “They looked like they might have had vanilla in them. I’m mildly allergic.”

“They were vanilla almond,” she says. “Whoever made them didn’t use enough butter.”

“Do you know what you want to do?”

“What time is it?” She looks at her watch. “Great,” she mutters. “Uh, look, how far are we from 803 South Waterloo?”

“That’s near Macy’s, right?”

“Yeah, it’s, uh, about three blocks away.”

“We’re across town.”

She groans. “Okay, just tell me where the nearest bus stop is.”

“I can drive you home.”

“You’ve done enough.”

“The next bus doesn’t come until six, and you don’t have any clean pants. Do you even have money for the fare?”

He realises she might have brought a purse to the party.

He also realises he should have tried to find out before they left. If she did, it might have had medicine or a cell phone or something to help him come up with a better plan than taking a possibly drugged, epileptic girl home and hoping for the best.

“Look, don’t worry about me. I’m sorry for- It was nice of you to do all this for me.”

“I’ve dealt with drunk and sick people before,” he tells her. “You were easy in comparison to most of them.”

“Thanks. I think. Anyway, contrary to popular belief, I’m not completely helpless.”

“I don’t know you well enough to have an opinion,” he says. “I just don’t think anyone should have to sit outside in the cold with no jeans or underwear during the night.”

Sighing, she slumps down. “Just so you know, there’s a possibility that there might be cops at my house. When a normal teenage girl doesn’t make curfew, usually, the parents just wait until she stumbles in, in the morning, and she’s grounded. My mom probably called my dad, and then, the police, and they probably have an ambulance driving around town on the lookout.”

“Although,” she continues, “I suppose you could drop me off near my house. I just don’t want you to have be grilled by everyone.”

“I don’t want that, either,” he says.

…

“Not that I’m not grateful, but why did you help me?”

It strikes him he doesn’t know. At the party, he hadn’t stopped to think about why he needed to help her.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well,” she says. “You shouldn’t have given me your bed. Not just because of what I did, either. You weren’t the one who accepted a cookie from some kid.”

“A kid gave you the cookie?”

“Yeah,” she answers. “I mean, I think she was in middle school. I don’t know, she could have a freshman. But I should have known better.”

The cookies, or cookie, never should have been drugged, and Erica shouldn’t have had to deal with any of this. However, since he was able to help her out, he can’t help but be grateful it was her and not some young kid. At best, there’s a stupid but relatively innocent reason for the drugged cookie, and at worst, someone, possibly the kid herself, was a target for something horrific.

“Stop here,” she says.

“Where’s your house?”

“Around the corner.”

“I’ll get a little closer.”

Making the corner, he sees she’s right. There are two police cruisers at her house, and he notices it’s well-lit in contrast to the rest of the darkened neighbourhood.

“Thank you.” She squeezes his arm.

Then, she’s out of the car with her jeans and underwear in her hands.

He watches her walk across the street, knock on her door, and be pulled into a hug by the woman who answers it. Once they’re both inside and the door’s closed, he drives away.

…

“Was it a girl or something else?”

Boyd sighs when Shawn turns on the living room lights.

“Well? I come back to find my car gone, your bed has been stripped of its sheets, and I can’t be sure, but I think some of the towels from the hallway closet are missing.”

Tossing the keys, he stays quiet.

He’s not even sure exactly how Shawn fits into the family tree. He appeared when Boyd was twelve, and he’s been staying on-and-off at the house and crashing on the couch since. Boyd’s mother likes him, but Boyd prefers to avoid him as much as possible due to the fact Shawn, if given an inch, will take a mile. If his mom doesn’t mind encouraging this, it’s her business, but he’d rather not.

“I almost called the cops,” Shawn continues. “If I hadn’t checked on you, I would have. Instead, I figured that your room would have been a warzone if someone had kidnapped you. So, which is it? A girl, or something else?”

Rolling his eyes and wondering if he’s actually going to get in trouble for this, he answers, “I went to a party. An epileptic classmate ate or drank something she shouldn’t have. I brought here her to sleep it off.”

“And she has something against sheets?”

“She had an accident. That’s why the towels are missing. I didn’t have anything else for her change into.”

“Oh. What were you doing at a party, anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

“What kind of party was it? I mean, was it a birthday party or just some kid deciding to throw one while Mom and Dad were away?”

“The swim team won a big match. It was a celebration.”

Sighing, Shawn leans back on the couch. “Fine. You’re paying for next week’s gas.”

He doesn’t think this is fair, especially since the gas tank is still over a quarter full, but he knows he could be facing a lot worse. “Okay.”

“Go to your room and keep quiet,” Shawn orders. “I need to get some sleep.”

He turns off the lights on his way.

…

He’s in second period English class when a student aide walks in, and he instinctively knows he’s about to be pulled out of class.

“You’ll need to get Tamara to help you,” he tells his partner, Isaac Lahey, and begins packing up.

Flinching, Isaac asks, “What? W-why?”

He doesn’t bother answering. 

Everyone knows Isaac has a bad home life. His mother and older brother are both dead, and his dad is a mean old man.

From what he remembers, Isaac’s always been shy and quiet, but at one point, he seemed to like being around people. Somewhere along the way, he’s become almost mute and seems afraid of his own shadow. Even though he’s gotten better about it, there was a time when a timid apology made an appearance every time he did speak. He’s one of the tallest boys in school, but it’s easy to forget with how he always slouches and seems to curl around himself as much as possible. 

“Boyd,” Mr Net calls. “You need to go to the office. Isaac-”

“Tamara will cover for me,” he interrupts.

He hopes it’ll be enough to keep Isaac from being put with Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore.

Lydia and Jackson are one of the alpha couples of school. Both revel in picking on kids like Isaac. Tamara Josephs, on the other hand, goes to church with one of Boyd’s elderly neighbours. She may not like being volunteered without any say, but he doubts she’ll mind actually helping Isaac.

“Tamara?”

“Yes, sir,” she answers. She motions for Isaac to come join her and her partner. “I’ve got it.”

…

In the office, he finds Sheriff Stilinski waiting for him.

Smiling slightly, the sheriff orders, “Boyd, sit down.”

As he does, the principal leaves and shuts the door behind him.

“How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Boyd answers.

“This morning, at 5:20, Erica Reyes came home after being out all night. She had two large towels, held up by safety pins, around her waist.  What do you know about all of this?”

He tells him.

“I see you’ve left out the part where you drove your cousin’s car, despite not having a license. I saw that with my own eyes. Luckily for you, however, I also saw you waiting until she was safely inside, and her story mostly matches up with yours. Why didn’t you call someone, Boyd?”

“She didn’t have any contact information on her, and I didn’t want to risk anyone finding out I was responsible for the party being broke.”

“Why didn’t you call me directly? Or Stiles? You have both of our cell numbers and our home line.”

Repressing a groan, he wishes he’d thought of this.

He’s had Stiles’s home phone number since he was in elementary, and for reasons he doesn’t particularly understand, Stiles gave him his cell phone number two or three years ago. However, he wouldn’t have called either, no matter what the situation.

However, he was also given Sheriff Stilinski’s personal cell phone number years ago, and even though he’s never used it, if he’d remembered he’d had it, he would have.

“I didn’t think of that,” he confesses.

Sheriff Stilinski sighs. “There’s a good reason people are required to have a driver’s license, Boyd. This is your one warning. Don’t do it again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You did a good thing,” the sheriff continues. “I know Erica’s very grateful. She assured us you were a perfect gentleman but refused to give your name. She was determined not to cause any trouble for you.”

He knows a response is expected, but he doesn’t know what it is.

“I’m sorry to pull you out of class, but I wanted to talk to you before Erica could.”

He shrugs. “My partner will probably do better with Tamara, anyway.”

For a long time, he’s suspected Isaac might be have some mild learning disability. Looking past the numerous grammatical errors, bizarre sentence structures, and the occasional malapropism, though, Isaac does have some interesting insights.

Unfortunately, he’s not the person to coax or encourage Isaac. Their partnership works well for him because highlighting the mistakes and giving suggestions on how to fix them is easy. He imagines, if he were a better person, he’d ask Mr Net to assign Isaac to someone who might be a bigger help.

“Right. This period is English?”

He nods.

“Who’s your partner?”

“Isaac Lahey.”

“Is he a friend?”

“We get along okay. Mostly, he’s terrified of his own shadow.”

Looking concerned, the sheriff asks, “Really? Do you know why?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with me.” He might not be the friendliest person around, but he’s never said or done anything more than give Isaac an irritated glare. “I think his dad might be worse than mine.”

Grimacing, the sheriff says, “Okay. Thank you, Boyd. You can go back to class, now.”

…

Boyd joined JROTC when he was thirteen. He does okay in everything but drills. Synchronisation is a persistent problem.

While everyone is examining their uniforms and preparing their rifles, the student leader, Kyle, sits down next to him. “Boyd, I’ve been reading on what might help you. What do you think about when we do drills?”

“Trying not to screw up,” he answers.

“That might be part of the problem. Sometimes, when you concentrate on something too hard, you have trouble doing it. Today, try thinking of something that makes you happy or relaxes you.”

He doubts this will work. “Okay.”

Clasping his shoulder, Kyle gets up.

…

Looking up, Kyle sees a frizzy-haired blonde girl holding a wrapped plate standing near the bleachers.

She’s not ROTC, and he’s never seen with her with any of the members of it.

He jogs over. “Hey. I’m Kyle. Is there something I can do to help you?”

Giving him startled look, she quickly shakes her head, and he sees the plate has flan on it.

“Are you looking for someone?”

“I’m just waiting.” She looks past him.

Seeing who she’s looking at, he calls, “Boyd!”

Boyd fumbles but doesn’t drop his rifle. Once he looks over, he sets it down and comes over. “Erica. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” She adjusts her feet. “I was wondering if I could talk to you after, um, this was over.”

“If you need to leave early today, I can cover for you,” Kyle offers.

“No,” Erica quickly says. “He doesn’t.”

Watching Boyd closely, he says, “Our drill should be over in ten to fifteen minutes. You’re welcome to wait here.” Making sure the teasing is clear in his voice, he continues, “Just don’t give Boyd a hard time if he makes a mistake. As skilled as he is in most areas, drills aren’t one of them.”

“That’s okay.” She gives Boyd a sympathetic look. “I imagine I’d have a hard time, too. For me, even when I know what I’m going to do and what someone else is going to do, it’s still hard to really trust that they’ll do it how I think.”

She winces, but Kyle sees Boyd taking in her words. If his expression is anything to go by, he understands exactly what she means and is surprised by the fact he does.

“You should probably get back to what you were doing,” she suggests.

Boyd nods. “I’ll talk to you after I’m done.”

…

The flan is delicious.

“The thing is, I don’t have any friends,” Erica blurts out. “Would you- we could eat lunch together? I know we have the same period. It’s just, um, most people, everyone at school would already know the story by now, especially me pissing the bed. But you haven’t told anyone.”

He hates eating lunch alone, and he doubts it’ll last long, but- “Sure. I’d like that. Thanks for the flan.”

She smiles, and he wonders how he never noticed how pretty she actually is until now.


End file.
